


My Mallory Heart [Add Violence Remix]

by Kiyaar



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Iron Man Vol. 3 (1998), M/M, Rumiko Fujikawa - Freeform, Secret Relationship, Tony’s heart, mild body horror, sentient armor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/pseuds/Kiyaar
Summary: He keeps seeing that bundle of metal set into Tony’s bare chest, the raw edges around it like Tony’s body was rejecting it. Keeps wondering:what have you done to yourself this time.





	My Mallory Heart [Add Violence Remix]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).
  * Inspired by [As a Rope to a Drowning Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287738) by [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/pseuds/Muccamukk). 



> This relay is part of a chain; you can find the full [masterlist](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Relay_Remix_2018/profile) on the Collection profile page.

Arguing with Jocasta is possibly worse than arguing with Tony.

Steve conducts the entire conversation in his angriest whisper huddled in the hallway with her projector clutched in his hand. He’s glad she’s her own, now, but it’s still eerie to hear Jan’s speech patterns overlaid with something Other and metal. She keeps harping on Tony’s heart rate. Steve is more concerned with the lacerations, with Tony’s hydration level. Jocasta tells him with the sort of infuriating calm that only an AI could manage: Tony’s recovering, he needs to sleep, he’s one hour and four minutes into a REM cycle and if Steve doesn’t burn off some of his energy while he has the chance, she’s going to lock him out of the apartment.

“Fine,” he growls at her, and he shuts the projector off.

He creeps back into the bedroom to get shorts and socks. He leans back on the bed and lets himself look at Tony laid out in the sunlight. He’s still sleeping – it’s been 16 hours, but he deserves it. Needs it. Tony moans in his sleep occasionally, tries to roll over on his side and rolls right back. Steve thinks some of his ribs are broken. The blinds are still down but the curtains have been pulled back and Tony glows in the sunlight that falls on his bare skin – sunburnt, abraded, savaged.

Steve’s gaze keeps drifting back to that thing shining in his chest. The skin around it is red and angry and tender, like Tony is somehow generating new scar tissue before Steve’s very eyes.

He’s beginning to think Tony almost died.

Steve takes the path through the park. His feet pound the pavement. He pushes himself, wants to feel air burning his lungs, wants to ache. Wants, with every cell in his body to turn around and go back to Tony’s apartment and wake him up and kiss him until he can’t breathe.

Jocasta can’t tell him what happened, she was offline. Steve wishes he wasn’t facing whatever this latest trauma has been alone, but Rhodes had to get back to work. It’s just Steve and Tony and Tony’s issues for now. Steve does his lap, does it again, jittery, off-kilter. He should have done more than leave messages when Tony missed the team meeting last week. It’s not like him; Steve should have known better. He has been quietly losing his mind ever since Rhodey called him yesterday from the air.

He stops at a bodega, grabs the Times and the WSJ and fancy coffee for Tony. He checks his watch – it’s only been an hour. Maybe breakfast. Tony needs to eat; he looks thin, whittled, wiry. He’s broken his nose again, it’s crooked. Steve hates it, he hates being the one to do damage control like this, hates seeing how bad Tony lets it get before he tries to patch himself together with duct tape.

He keeps seeing that bundle of metal set into Tony’s bare chest, the raw edges around it like Tony’s body was rejecting it. Keeps wondering: _what have you done to yourself this time._

Steve is very careful when he lets himself back in to Tony’s apartment. He steps lightly on the stairs, turns his key very gently in the doorknob, tiptoes around the apartment. He eats lunchmeat straight out of the bag from Tony’s mysteriously-stocked fridge. He doesn’t think Tony’s been in the city for weeks now – he’s been wherever Rumiko’s taken them.

Steve resents being Tony’s mistress. He knows there’s a name for what they’re doing.

He is puttering when he hears something from the bathroom. He pulls Jocasta out and grabs his shield from where it sits by the door. “Tony,” he says, stalking down the hallway.

A crash, from the bathroom, and Steve is keying up to fight, the bed is empty and unmade and stained with Tony’s blood and –

Tony is standing naked in front of the mirror trying to pry a bandage off his back.

“Fuck,” Tony says, and his eyes are wet, and all the anger Steve thought he’d worked out on his run comes rushing back. Tony sees Steve, then, startles so hard Steve actually drops his shield and raises his hands. Tony deflates, casts his eyes around like he’s been caught. The sink is full of bandages. He sways unsteadily.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Tony rasps, Jesus, his throat sounds like it’s gone through a grater –

“I got back. Let me take you to the hospital,” Steve says. He is proud of himself for not using the Captain America voice.

Tony huffs out an indignant little breath and immediately winces. “No.”

“This is stupid, Tony,” Steve sighs. “You have broken ribs–”

“I think I can handle it,” Tony snaps. He’s leaning on his elbow now, curled over the counter. His breathing doesn’t sound ok. A bruise is blooming over his side.

“I just want to help,” Steve offers. “Will you let me help you, at least?”  He reaches out to touch Tony’s shoulder and Tony flinches violently away.

Steve desperately tries to quash the instinct to call for backup and reminds himself that he is the backup.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Tony says. He touches his shoulder, flicks his gaze up just for it to skitter away from Steve’s eyes.

Sometimes Steve regrets being an Avenger because it means he is obligated to exercise mercy toward those who do Tony harm.

“Talk to me,” Steve implores. “Tony, please, talk to me.”

“How much did Rhodey tell you before he took off,” Tony says. He tries to ease himself onto the closed toilet and Steve barely catches him before his legs give out. He is in _bad_ shape, Christ –

Steve perches on the edge of the bathtub, close at hand in case Tony passes out. “He picked up your distress signal from an island in the North Pacific,” he recites, “You wouldn’t say anything to him, Pepper says you’ve been missing for two weeks, you had no armor and you were barely conscious.”

You didn’t call _me,_ he wants to say.

“That’s a version,” Tony says, just as the kettle starts to whistle.

Steve swears. “Don’t move,” he says, like Tony is going anywhere. He trots out to the kitchen, takes the kettle off the heat, and slams it down on an unused burner like it’s personally targeted him. He grabs Tony’s coffee, and digs around in the bag for an everything bagel – still warm, good. He snatches a blanket off the couch on his way back.  

Steve sets the coffee on the bathroom counter, sets the bagel on top of that, tucks the blanket around Tony. Tony lets him.

“I can’t drink that,” Tony says quietly, nodding at the coffee.

Steve laughs. “You love coffee,” he says.

Tony looks at his hands. “I had a heart attack.”

“Tony,” Steve hears himself say. Tony had a heart attack, he’d thought this was over, he’d thought that this was a thing he didn’t have to constantly worry about anymore, the chest plate is gone, god, if he has to go back into it Steve thinks he’s going to die –

Tony takes Steve’s minor, invisible meltdown in stride. “Two, actually,” he says, like a heart attack is a minor inconvenience and not a major medical event, like he’s resigned himself to it. “Also Rumiko is never talking to me again, but I guess I deserved that, for this, for us,” he says, waving his hand between them. “My armor honest to god came to life and turned on me,” and his voice is flat, “and it assimilated the sum of my human experience and came out possessive and homicidal, so I’m feeling pretty shitty about that.”  

“I thought your heart was ok,” Steve says. It’s one of those nightmare scenarios he needs to cauterize before he can move forward, and Tony’s calm is only feeding his own panic, he knows he’s supposed to be an anchor but Tony is sitting in front of him and that fucking _thing_ is buried in his chest and Steve wants to hit something –

“I thought it was ok, too,” Tony echoes, drumming his fingers absently around the casing. “It’s not so bad,” he says, and his gaze slides past Steve again. “I got through the chest plate,” he croaks, like he’s giving himself the world’s shittiest pep talk. “I can get through it, it will be fine, it’s not a big deal–”

“You need to go to the hospital, Tony–”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” Tony says, and there’s not even fight in him, he just tilts his head back like he’s trying to melt into the wall. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddery breath. “I don’t want to fight, ok, just, I need to regroup–”

“What does that even mean,” Steve cuts in, “you had two heart attacks and you just wanna _wait and see–_ ”

“There’s a piece of metal in my chest, Steve, what kind of imaging do you really think I can get–”

“You had two heart attacks!” Steve roars at him. “You disappear and instead of seeking medical care like a normal person you experiment on yourself–”

“Actually, captivity is how this happened,” Tony says.

Steve’s mouth opens and closes.

“The armor did this to you,” he says.

Tony sets his face like a stone and his eyes well up and a tear beads down his cheek.

“Oh, Tony,” Steve says. “I didn’t mean–”

“I know you’re mad at me, so just, cut it,” Tony says. “I know it’s my fault. I haven’t been paying attention, I didn’t do enough prep for Y2K, I let it happen – no, I did, Steve, it’s my job to think of things other people don’t think of, it’s just. I hate that it turned out the way it did,” he whispers. “It killed Whiplash, Steve, it tried to kill me, it was obsessive and it said it _loved_ me and I keep thinking – if that’s how it understood love, and it learned it from me–”

“It didn’t,” Steve says flatly. “They’re different things, Tony, love and obsession–”

“Which one are you,” Tony says to the tile floor.

Steve must wait too long to answer, because Tony draws in a shuddering breath and buries his face in his hands. “Rumiko came to my house and told me she loved me,” Tony says, like he’s forcing the words out. “And the armor was right there and I just stood there like a coward and I didn’t say anything–”

“You’re not a coward,” Steve says, because he doesn’t want to talk about Rumiko, he’s made it clear, but Tony barrels on –

“Rhodey didn’t call Ru,” Tony says. “He fucking called you, Steve, he brought me here because Rumiko doesn’t know who I am,” he says, and he laughs like something is rattling loose in him. “This armor,” Tony says, equal parts reverence and horror. “It came alive on its own but I’m the one that made it, it sampled everything I’ve ever felt and it still built itself around fear and violence, it fucking – _killed_ someone because I wasn’t good enough, what do I do with that?”

“That’s not on you,” Steve says. What else can he say? “You know it’s not.”

Tony nods to himself, like all the energy has drained out of him in one great rush. “But I made a mess of everything,” he says. His fingers trace the metal thing in his chest, beneath the blanket; Steve can hear it sliding against Tony’s skin.

Steve nods. “Maybe you did,” he says, carefully, “but we’ll fix it.” Steve says. He’s close enough to reach Tony’s knees, scabbed and scraped and bandaged, but he puts his hands there, solid, warm, grounding (he hopes). He kneads Tony’s thighs, he tries to catch Tony’s eye.

“I’m worried I’m turning into something bad,” Tony tells him. “I feel like I looked into a funhouse mirror and saw my darkest self, I feel like.” He trails off, shakes his head like he can rid himself of the demons. “Jocasta says it’s replacing my heart tissue,” he says. “I don’t know how to fix it, it was _trying to build itself a body, Steve_ ,” and Tony’s hands are shaking. “It’s deeper than it was yesterday, I think it’s – it’s adapting, or something, what if I come out like Ultron, what if it’s controlling me–”

“Ok, stop, deep breaths, Tony,” Steve says, because they’re dangerously close to a full panic attack and Tony’s ribs are broken. Steve dares to look at the thing and he wants to deny it, but Tony is right: yesterday it perched on his chest, protruding like some sinister parasite, today it’s almost flush with the skin. “Jocasta said it was fine, right?”

Tony nods.

“Then it’s fine,” Steve says. “Jocasta knows. You programmed her, remember?”

“Ultron programmed her,” Tony mumbles. “I don’t think I can handle that, if she goes, too, Steve, everyone turns on me or, or, or leaves.”

Tony lets that hang and then tears are just sliding out of his eyes again.

“You need to sleep,” Steve says, because this is Tony’s very own personal slippery slope to hell. He kneels on the porcelain floor in front of Tony, draws Tony’s hands into his own. “Listen,” he tells Tony, and gathers Tony into him. He runs his hands up Tony’s sides. He’s sticky with sweat, dried blood, something that feels like sap. “We will fix this, but not right now.”

Tony finds his eyes – bloodshot, but clear enough. Enough cylinders firing. He nods, once. He looks like he wants to die.

“Not leaving,” Steve tells him. “Ok?”

Tony nods, numb, dazed.  

Steve coaxes Tony onto the sofa, armed with new gauze and a warm washcloth and fresh underwear. Tony lets him change the bandages, lets him scrub at his skin one inch at a time and smooth new butterfly strips on and daub Neosporin on his stitches. He goes somewhere else, his eyes vacant, his gaze sliding away.

Steve does his best, but he can only do so much. He finds an expensive jar of aloe under Tony’s sink, rubs it between his palms and then massages it into Tony’s too-tanned skin. He takes Tony’s face gently in his hands and cradles his cheeks, wipes away his dirty tear tracks, feels the sunburn-heat coming off Tony’s skin.

“Can I kiss you,” Steve says, and brushes Tony’s hair out of his eyes.

Tony drags himself back from wherever he’s gone, blinks at him, once, twice. His eyes get a little sharper. “I wish you would,” he says, quietly.

He melts into it. He lets Steve support him, like he can’t bear to be awake for another minute, like his limbs are made of lead. He clings like if he lets go of Steve he’ll lose his tether on reality.

 _Let me put you to bed_ , Steve whispers to him, and Tony nods. Tony grits his teeth but he still groans when Steve gets an arm under him and around his back. He walks like he’s been hobbled, like his knees are rusting and his joints have been knocked out of place. Steve pulls the covers over him and makes him take aspirin and surrenders Jocasta’s projector so Steve can’t call an ambulance.

“Stay,” Tony says.

Steve wants to tell him no. That Rumiko is waiting for him, that he shouldn’t squander his chance with her for this.

Steve climbs in behind him, nudges Tony’s knees up, throws one leg carefully over Tony’s thigh. Wraps an arm around his chest. Kisses his neck.

Tony starts to cry, but he clutches at Steve’s arm, presses his body back into Steve’s. Please be here when I wake up, he says and Steve murmurs against his neck and pitches his voice into something warm and soothing and whispers _I love you_ s that are just quiet enough that Tony can’t hear them.

He cries for a while, until his breathing subsides into something steady, deeper and deeper. He’s almost on the edge of sleep when he startles awake again, feels around desperately until he finds Steve’s hand and grips it with all his strength.

 _What if I stop having a heartbeat,_ Tony asks him, breathless, hysterical, _what if I’m still on that island, what if he’s already replaced me, Steve,_ he says. He slides into panic and gulps in breaths of air and moans because his ribs are broken. Steve holds his body and feels his lungs fill with air, feels his bones shift beneath his burning skin, brushes dirt and grit out of his hair.

Presses his face to Tony’s neck and smells the ghost of something that Steve imagines belongs to Rumiko - perfume, lipstick.

 _It’s ok, Jocasta said so,_ Steve murmurs, strokes Tony’s hair, smoothes a hand down his bare side, his quaking body. _I believe her,_ he lies, and tries not to crane his neck to look at the skin on Tony’s chest where it’s disappearing into his skin. It’s almost gone now; it’s almost fully in his chest. It feels like the beginning of something terrible.

 _It’s ok_ , he says, over and over, until he almost believes it. _You’re gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out._

Tony slides into sleep, finally, his face pillowed on Steve’s bicep.

Steve lays his head on the pillow next to Tony’s and listens for signs of trouble, for wheezing, for wet breathing, for the straining and clenching of the walls of Tony’s heart. It’s one thing Steve can do: stand guard against invisible dangers of the flesh.

Tony’s heartbeat skips, just once, and then picks up again like it had never lapsed. Stronger, faster.

Like clockwork.

**Author's Note:**

> • Thank you for reading, I hope you suffered some  
> .  
> • Comments sustain me! Really. Anything.  
> • Here is a [rebloggable tumblr post](http://kiyaar.tumblr.com/post/171500808123/fic-my-mallory-heart-add-violence-remix) if the spirit moves you.  
> • I am [kiyaar](http://kiyaar.tumblr.com/) on tumblr and [here on twitter](https://twitter.com/besafesteve).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [History Like Gravity [A Married Remix]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430376) by [IndigoNight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoNight/pseuds/IndigoNight)




End file.
